


Persuasion

by 9_of_Clubs



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Desire, Dressing Room, M/M, Seduction, Teasing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, darker will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9_of_Clubs/pseuds/9_of_Clubs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Will continues his ongoing plan of seducing Hannibal by asking him to take him to a tailor and Hannibal just DYING WITH SWOON. But it’s still all loaded with double talk and then they have angry dressing room making out OMFG. </p>
<p>Will makes a noise at the bottom of his throat and turns on the spot, shifts away. “I don’t think I invited you to touch.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Persuasion

"I think I need better clothes." He says causally between discussion of how he can’t be in closed off spaces anymore and his desire to go back to working for Jack. His lip curls when it hits Hannibal exactly as he’d hoped it would, a sudden pause, closing of lips, and a swift turn of his head. The Hannibal version of a double take. He looks surprised and then he looks pleased, palpable pride exuding from his form. Internally, Will laughs, Hannibal is so malleable in his fingers, he really almost forgets that this man arranged his whole imprisonment, has killed so many.

"Better clothing?" Hannibal repeats and Will can see him trying to contain his desire, attempting to hide his excitement, but failing in the face of the depth to which Will knows him. To anyone else he might appear as collected as ever, but with the way he leans ever so slightly forward, canting his head, to Will he’s practically salivating. 

"Mmhmm." He hums as though he scarcely cares about the matter, ready to move on at any moment. "I was just thinking about it, sorry to switch thoughts, we can just -"

"No." Hannibal shakes his head. "A man’s dress is very important Will, the right outfit might put into perspective your new freedom. A good suit could help you regain the control you feel so sorely lacking."

He’s so passionate about it, so determined to convince himself and Will that this is about Will’s mental acuity, and not about Hannibal wanting to see his ass in something that fits, that Will almost loses his own bearings and chuckles. But instead, he tilts his head, pretending to consider Hannibal’s words. 

"Maybe." He adds in hesitance for good measure, a slight waver. "But I really don’t know a lot about these things, you know that Doc-"

Hannibal doesn’t even allow the words from his mouth before he’s leaning back, as though he has convinced Will of something, pleasure curling in his smile. “Nonsense Will, I will take you.” 

Will’s smile grows. _Of course he will._

—

Will almost regrets this particular game as the hours stretch on. He doesn’t like the little man that keeps hobbling around him, measuring this length and that width, touching him more than he cares to be touched. And if anyone thinks Hannibal is a perfectionist in the kitchen, they clearly haven’t seen him when it comes to shopping. The man tuts his lips about the color, and disagrees with the choice of pocket and then requires another button and Will feels a tired agitation starting to thrum through him, a building frustration.

It doesn’t help that he’s held in place, while Hannibal is free to move around him, and he can feel the hunger in his eyes as more of the suit comes together. He senses the way the gaze keeps sliding over his body. Will would like to gaze too, thank you very much, he would like to move, would like to bring this whole field trip to the conclusion he’d intended it for, but instead he’s stuck on a stool being pricked by needles and listening to conversation about material and drape. 

Finally, whatever is necessary for custom tailoring is completed and premade suits come out, ready to be taken home immediately, the tailor assures Hannibal and pushes them both towards the dressing room. He disappears behind the door, ready to pull the fabric on, but realizes there’s no shirt on the hanger. When he cracks open the door again, mouth already parted to explain, but shuts it again when he sees Hannibal standing there, holding a shirt of deep green ready on the hanger, his lips curled in a smirk. Despite himself, Will finds that he likes the color, lets his eyes narrow at Hannibal, a crooked smile on his face, and retreats. 

The suit does fit him well, exceptionally well, he’s probably never actually held, let alone worn, something that has been right for him like this. It falls across the planes of his body and clings to his form without being ostentatious. The shirt is in a color he’s always liked but could never find in the department stores he’d shopped at, hoping as he had to leave them as soon as possible. He wears it now and marvels, with the haircut, he barely recognizes himself. 

He’s still looking when there’s a knock on the door and then it pushes in. Of course, Hannibal feels no need to wait for his agreement before entering. He ignores him for a moment longer before turning into the gaze, the smoldering heat of it might have once consumed him, but now he simply looks it in the eye as though it were nothing. 

"Well." He murmurs, taking his own step forward, Hannibal might invade his spaces, but he’s making sure the other no longer has any of his own to run to. "I think this certainly qualifies as better." His fingers reach up without asking for permission and cup Hannibal’s cheek for a moment before drifting down again, turning away, back to the mirror. He can see Hannibal’s eyes tracking his movements through the glass, can see the step forward he takes, the way his eyes are glowing with life that Will has never seen before. 

"I would have to agree." The response is soft, dangerous, Hannibal’s hand splaying on his shoulder, drifting down to the small of his back.

Will makes a noise at the bottom of his throat and turns on the spot, shifts away. “I don’t think I invited you to touch.” 

"Didn’t you?" Hannibal has a look of false surprise on his face, but he’s smirking, enjoying the game, doesn’t realize Will is reeling him in slowly. "Why then, did you invite me?"

"I invited you to want." His response is ready, casual, it’s the truth, ironically, though Hannibal can’t see it. "You can want all you like, but if you’d like to touch - " His lips lift away from his teeth, more of a baring of them than a smile. "You’ll have to convince me I should let you." 

He moves in, still with the same gaze, and reaches up, kisses Hannibal letting his tongue run across the other’s lips, tasting and exploring with a thoughtful hum. “You’ve already invited me to touch, too late to take it back now.” 

Hannibal growls as their positions reverse, as Will becomes free to move and traps him in place. He abuses it, removes Hannibal’s tie and loosens his shirt, draws his teeth against the skin of the collar bone and sucks marks into the skin. Hannibal’s neck bares itself to him as the other’s eyes flutter shut, the frustration evident, the self control it’s taking him not to reach out and grab Will, immense. He can feel it throbbing through them both. 

With quick motions, he shifts into Hannibal, pushes him back against one of the walls and tucks himself close, the fine suit shifting with them, crinkling a little now as Will moves. Hannibal makes a sound like it hurts him, Will swallows it with his lips. It’s a rougher kiss this time, full of his frustration and Hannibal’s tangling together, of the quickly growing arousal that’s loud in his ears and searing through his veins. 

Hannibal makes soft noises into his mouth, leans into every harsh touch, follows Will like he’s starving. He’s teasing him purposefully, harsh touches, then soft ones, his whole palm on skin one moment barely grazing at all the next. He mouths angrily at Hannibal and draws blood with his teeth and then leans up to kiss him sweetly, holding back all his anger before letting it gush again. 

He waits until he hears it, the breath that’s almost non existent, the whisper of please.

He lets his lips curl, sliding his hand down into Hannibal’s pants, slowly drawing his fingers around hardened skin. He strokes for a moment, eyes drifting up to Hannibal’s, waiting until he’s smiling back. 

A heartbeat passes.

"I’m not convinced." He murmurs, tongue curling around each syllable, tilting his head at Hannibal. With difficulty he draws away, maneuvers Hannibal out the door and shuts it before he can say another word.

When he surfaces again, Hannibal is waiting, lips curved, eyes still shining. 

"Perhaps…next time?" It’s more of a question than a statement and that pleases him, his own smile widening as he hands Hannibal back his tie. 

"Perhaps." He allows and they leave together.


End file.
